


but you can do the job while you're in town

by ascience



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: FC Bayern München, Footy Secret Santa, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascience/pseuds/ascience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slip of paper and an ugly sweater sort of make Mario's Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but you can do the job while you're in town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madanach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madanach/gifts).



> I don't want to babble too much before we start so here's the Secret Santa fic for madanach (I hope I managed to come up with something you enjoy ❤) and here's [an accompanying fanmix](http://8tracks.com/ascience/but-you-can-do-the-job-while-you-re-in-town)!
> 
> Written for the [Footy Secret Santa](http://footy_ssanta.livejournal.com/).

The first snow falls on a day half-way into December and of course Dante instantly makes it his mission to inform the whole team as well as probably half of Bavaria about this amazing event by loudly shouting, “Snow! Snow! Snow!” across the training grounds.

Mario interrupts his jogging and looks up into the sky. Indeed, snowflakes are tumbling down from the clouds and Mario has to grin, then he spreads his arms and opens his mouth to catch some flakes with his tongue.  
Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the others pause as well as and stick out their hands to see the snow melt like it’s a miracle.

Suddenly someone calls, “Watch out!” but it’s too late for Mario to react and he gets hit right into the back of his head with something that is probably meant to be a snowball, but is in fact more or less a mess of grass blades and earth with only a couple of snowflakes in it.

Mario quickly combs the grass out of his hair and turns around to look straight into the face of Bastian who pointedly fakes warm-up exercises and fails at seeming innocent.

“Could you at least wait until we have enough actual snow to start a snowball fight?” Mario says and Basti’s facade breaks into a wide, shark-like grin, the one that Mario hates because it makes his stomach drop.

“Oh no,” Mario starts when he sees that, waving his hands at Bastian, “no, whatever you’re thinking about, don’t do it, no, no, no.”

His pleas aren’t answered though and Basti pounces right into his arms so they both go down and end up stacked, lying on the ground.

Mario’s back is cold and wet from the melted snow, his chest hot, either from Basti’s body warmth or from the thermal discharge of his heart beating over-time, what _ever_.

“What the hell?” Mario tries to growl but doesn’t quite manage to sound like anything but an agitated puppy and Basti laughs.

“Snow angel, dude!” he says gleefully and moves his arms and legs up and down which doesn’t help their situation at all.

“Get off,” Mario says and shoves Basti away from himself to get up from the grass. Basti just keeps lying there, doing his snow angel without any snow.

“Where’s your Christmas spirit?” Basti asks, as Mario wipes away the dirt from his shorts and legs.

Mario just huffs. “My Christmas spirit is a cup of cacao next to the fireplace and not a soaked jacket, thanks very much.”

He holds his hand out and Basti grabs it to lever himself up from the ground but doesn’t immediately let go when he’s safely on his two feet again. For a moment, they’re awkwardly almost-holding-hands, as Basti says, “As soon as we’ve got actual snow, we’re so doing a snowball fight.”

“Whatever, maybe.”

“Not maybe! Definitely!”

“Probably.” Mario knows he can’t say no.

“Come one, we’re doing it one hundred per cent.”

“Seventy-five per cent.”

“Ninty-nine!”

And that’s how Christmas season starts.

\--

“I swear it’s fun, we used to do this at Dortmund all the time!” Robert says and looks at the rest of team expectantly.

No one’s socks are really being knocked off in the prospect of doing a Secret Santa but they are easily convinced since it’s a nice, heart-warming idea coming from someone who is usually not even charitable enough to share the last cookie.

Mario loves loves loves Christmas with all of his holly-decorated heart but he has his doubts because he knows that they didn’t do this at Dortmund all the time, in fact pretty much never so Robert is probably planning something really horrible.

Mario is about to speak up about it but then he meets Basti’s eyes across the room ( _Basti_ who is already wearing a Santa Claus hat everywhere he goes and _Basti_ who is the greatest man Mario knows and _Basti_ who winks at him cheerfully) – and decides to let Robert carry on with his Secret Satan, uh, Santa thing.

Philipp is selected to write all names on small pieces of paper and they pass them around in David’s baseball cap to each draw one so that the pair-ups are left to chance.

Chance, it turns out, is somewhat of a dick.

As Javi loudly proclaims that he drew Manuel and the others shout at him that that’s not the point of a secret present exchange, Mario peels open his piece of paper and of fucking course it says _BASTIAN_ in Philipp’s neat block letters.

It’s not the worst name he could have drawn but now Mario is under pressure to impress Basti because Basti is an amazing person and Mario is just a silly kid and woah, this is going way too far into his latent streak of adoration.

Keep it down, Mario tells himself as the team starts training but he does think about present ideas the whole time, even as Jérôme engages Robert and him in a conversation about Christmas baking escapades. It feels like Jérôme is more talking to Robert anyway so Mario stays out of it mostly, apart from ‘ _hmm_ ’s and ‘ _same_ ’s.  
Cookies don’t seem like the right kind of present for Basti.

\--

Mario’s mom is a pro at writing very early and very passive-aggressive Christmas cards in a curved handwriting that she seems to have perfected for this exact purpose so it’s no surprise that Mario finds a red-golden envelope in between the advertisements in his letterbox.

When he sits down at the kitchen table with a warm cup of tea to open the card, fake snow and small cut out paper angels fall out and he has to roll his eyes at this overkill of Christmas aggression.

 _Dear Mario_ , the card reads, _we all wish you a very happy Christmas season, spending it with your second family – your team. At least we get you for Christmas Eve. Since I assume you won’t have time to visit your grandma, could you please send her a photo of you in the sweater she knitted you last year? You know how happy she would be about it!_

At the bottom the card is signed in the name of various family members that definitely never had any part in writing it but Mario is grateful anyway. He takes yoghurt out of the fridge and sticks the card onto the door with a magnet before he goes to dig into his wardrobe to find that ugly, scratchy red reindeer sweater that looks more like an accident than a piece of clothing.

He doesn’t find it though. And thinking about it, there’s an easy explanation as to why. Mario totally remembers throwing it away now, right after taking it from the package and the sting of bad conscience he feels now comes a little too late. Even the nutcracker figure sitting on his window sill seems to look at him reproachfully now so Mario flips it off and starts wondering where he could get a positively hideous sweater, preferably for free - but his thoughts are interrupted by his text alert.

 _basti: important team meeting in 1h,_ then twenty seconds later, _basti: haha just kidding, we’re partying @ xmas market, everybody better be there_

Mario immediately grabs his jacket and beanie and forgets about the sweater for now, but returns to his worries about what to get Basti for the Secret Santa. Maybe he could carefully interrogate Basti about his wishes tonight if he manages to bring it up casually.

The snow crunches under Mario’s boots as trots towards the bulk of small, lighted huts that form the Christmas market. Even from far, he can smell the sweet almonds and hear _Last Christmas_ blare loudly from a larger than life candle arch.

Nearly the whole team gathers on the Christmas market because, hey: Basti asks you to jump, you say ‘how high and how is Lukas doing?’ – but maybe that’s just the way Mario thinks.

Everyone huddles together in a circle around Bastian, mummed in scarves and caps to ward off the cold and the snowflakes that occasionally fall from the sky. The mood is probably best described by the fact that Rafinha is wearing a sweater with LEDs that blink in the rhythm of _Jingle Bells_ and the fact that at least five of them are humming along to it, clashing with the music coming from the loudspeakers.  
Mario can’t help but tap his toes to the badly performed quintet.

Anyway, it starts with Basti ordering a round of beer for everyone which overwhelms the poor people working the tap and it ends with the team splitting into groups that find their own way across the Christmas market.

To give credit where credit is due, Mario _does_ try to hang onto Jérôme but that guy turns out to be a freaking traitor and walks off with Robert in long strides which, uh. That certainly _is_ sort of new.

Robert throws a look back to more or less accidentally meet Mario’s eyes but it’s hard to read Robert’s face as he lays an arm around Jérôme’s shoulders before they vanish into the dim evening.

“Hey, come on, I’m freezing, we need to move,” Basti says and draws Mario’s attention to him.

Mario is seriously honoured that Basti is still here and didn’t follow Manuel and Thomas to get drunk or do whatever else he could have done except chill here with Mario where it’s honestly relatively boring.

“Where do you want to go?”

Basti shrugs and buries his nose in the silky scarf around his neck.  
It’s cute, Mario wants to think before he stops himself. That guy is carrying a name so long it wouldn’t fit across my shoulders, Mario reminds himself and points out some random angel statue, carved out of wood and painted in glossy colours, just so that they have some direction to head in.

For a minute, Basti and Mario are just walking alongside each other with hunched shoulders to shield themselves from the cold while looking into the displays of the market stalls. A yellow, warm glow shines from them onto the toys, sweets and presents and Mario sighs out of happiness because hey. It’s Christmas.

Basti breaks the comfortable silence first.

“So, what does a guy like you want for Christmas?”

“A guy like me?” Mario asks and tugs his hands out of his jacket pockets to do air quotes.

“Oh, you know. _Golden boy_ and all.” Basti says with a straight face but the corners of his mouth curve into the faintest of smiles.

“Look who’s talking,” Mario huffs but he can almost feel the flattered heat in his face rising, despite the cutting wind that sometimes turns around the corners between the market stalls.

“So what is it? Chocolate? A watch? Cinema tickets?”

Mario looks at the ground and thinks for a moment. “Urgh, I hate that question, I never know what to say. My parents still give me socks and my brother just sends me the same box of Lindt chocolate every year.”

He trails off and then, because there had been something _else_ on his mind when he left home, he adds as an afterthought, “But I could really use an ugly sweater to be honest.”

Basti wrinkles his forehead and it looks like he almost wants to question that statement but then he doesn’t, just shrugs.

They keep walking and Basti is so close that their sides sometimes brush and it leaves Mario with a foreign, tingling feeling that probably shouldn’t exist between two friendly colleagues who take a stroll across the Christmas market.

They have to dodge a drunk, kissing-while-walking couple that stumbles across the snowy pavement and maybe, just maybe Mario follows them with his eyes until turning his head would be too conspicuous.

The cold is starting to eat through Mario’s jacket now and he has to shiver and rub his hands together to warm them up.

“We should get some mulled wine.” Basti says, like he can read minds and uses his shoulder to softly nudge Mario towards one of the signs that advertises the very thing in red letters.

Apparently the people selling the wine need to refill the container after pouring one mug or anyway, there’s some other reason that only Mario gets his mulled wine at first. And one second, Basti is pointing out a gingerbread heart that says ‘ _I mog di_ ’ and the next second, he closes his hands around the steaming mug of wine that Mario is holding – and consequently around Mario’s fingers as well – like it’s something completely ordinary to do.

Mario chokes on the sip he’s swallowing right now and only manages to make a confused noise as he is hyper-aware of Basti’s touch.

“It’s cold,” Basti says as if that’s enough of an explanation, as he slowly draws circles with his thumbs.

It’s a little pointless because now Mario can’t drink anymore without shaking off Basti’s hand and no way in hell would he ever do that but that’s not the part that freaks Mario out.

Maybe it’s the wine punch or maybe it’s the way the snowflakes stick to Basti’s eyelashes where they glitter for a moment before they melt, maybe it’s the fog of their breaths mixing between them, maybe it’s _All I Want for Christmas is You_ replaying for the twentieth time – but either way, it punches Mario right into the guts and he clenches his hand around the mug he’s holding.

“What’s wrong?” Basti asks, as he can probably feel it under his fingertips and can see Mario’s knuckles turn white, and Mario squeezes his eyes shut so hard that he can see sparks.

“Nothing,” Mario says and hopes his voice sounds steady, “I’m fine.”

Basti’s lips twitch and Mario forces himself to look away, at his own reflection in the wine. In a way, puzzle pieces are falling into place right now and a lot of things start making sense.

The second mug of mulled wine is finally passed over the counter, Basti removes his hands to take a gulp from his own drink and Mario hates to admit that he feels cold without his contact.

They set themselves into motion again across the Christmas market. It’s a wonder they haven’t come across anyone from the rest of the team yet but then again, it’s a pretty big market and most of the others have probably already moved the party into a bar.

Mario buys a bag of roasted almonds for five euros (way too expensive) and doesn’t eat a single one of them because it’d feel awkward, eating alone. Things are a little awkward anyway now that Mario’s had this _epiphany_ but Basti doesn’t seem to notice that he’s distracted.

When Mario arrives back home late at night and takes off the layers of clothes, he feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin and falls down onto his bed face first. He presses his head into his pillow and lets out a muffled, frustrated shout, then Mario grabs his phone and scrolls through his contacts until he finds Marco.

_why didn’t you tell me i’m in love with bastian fucking schweinsteiger_

The three dots pop up on the screen quickly and Marco is typing for what seems to be an eternity so Mario considers texting Jérôme but he’d like Jérôme to think he’s cool whereas any hope for that is lost with Marco anyway.

Mario is about to put his phone away when finally a reply arrives.

The message, as helpful as ever, contains nothing but an aubergine emoji.

Mario stares at the screen of his phone in disbelief and the aubergine stares back as if to say ‘good luck with falling head over heels for your teenage hero’.

Way to go, Marco, way to go.

\--

Adding to the fact that Mario has found neither an appropriate sweater nor a present for Bastian, the fact that his adoration has surpassed itself into something much, much bigger doesn’t make things easier.

But at least he can get rid of two of these problems and Mario knows that the best solution is making someone else deal with it which is why he casually tries to obtain a sweater and dispose of the small offending piece of paper that says _BASTIAN_ in one go.

“Hey, Jérôme, how you doing?“ Mario asks chirpily, with a grin as wide as possible. He slides onto the bench on the sidelines next to Jérôme who has his legs stretched out and one earphone in. “Everything alright?”

Jérôme, however, is unimpressed and doesn’t stop looking into the distance. “What do you want?”

“What do you mean –“ Mario starts but Jérôme flicks against his shoulder before he can finish.

“You only ever get that breakfast-tv voice with me when you want something. So what is it?”

“Do you, by any chance, own a very ugly red reindeer sweater?”

Jérôme purses his lips like he’s extremely offended but still hasn’t averted his eyes from whatever he’s staring at on the pitch. Mario follows his gaze but there’s only Robert dribbling out on the grass. Weird.

“Have you ever seen me in any type of ugly sweater?” Jérôme asks.

“No,” Mario admits, “but my mom is going to kill me if I don’t find one and you’re the only one I dared to ask in hope you wouldn’t make fun of me.”

Jérôme almost manages to keep a straight face but then he breaks out into laughter and pats Mario’s head which he knows Mario hates, thank you very much, and even looks at him for it.

“So this is about the sweater that you threw away because it was, and I quote, rubbish? The sweater that your dear grandmother knit for you with shaking hands during long, cold winter nights? Sorry, MG, that is your problem.”

Mario runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. “Shut up! I hate you. And don’t call me MG.”

“Right.” Jérôme says but he adds a mouthed ‘MG’ as well.

Mario carefully doesn’t say anything for moment and then speaks up again like he’s starting an entirely new conversation. Maybe he’ll be in better luck with his next request.

“So,” he drawls, “who do you have for the Secret Santa?”

Jérôme doesn’t fall for this ’casual conversation‘ and chuckles. “It’s called _Secret_ Santa for a reason, Mario.”

Goddamnit, foiled again. But fuck it if Mario isn’t desperate right now and when Mario is desperate, he’s not above begging.

“Oh come on, I need someone to swap with. Please! Pleeeease?”

“I don’t think so.” Jérôme tilts his head and focuses on Robert again with an unreadable expression on his face. The way he’s leaning back and just staring, it’s almost like he’s enjoying a show.

Mario shakes his head to get rid of that thought because – ew.  
“Urgh, please! Help a friend out!”

Jérôme pulls his gaze away from the pitch again and looks at Mario like he suspects something fishy going on.

“Who did you draw that you’re so frantically trying to swap?”

Mario thinks about Basti and then tries really hard _not_ to anymore, as he clears his throat.  
“Uhm, it’s called _Secret_ Santa for a reason? I can’t tell you.”

“Is it because you can’t think of a gift? Because if it’s Xabi, just give him beard conditioner or something.”

“It’s not Xabi,” Mario says through gritted teeth.

Jérôme ponders it for a moment, before trying a second guess, “Is it me? Because that would be a dick move.”

“No. It’s not you,” Mario whines, “I’d know what to get _you_. I just want to get something cool for Bast-”

Mario stops himself and curses inwardly but Jérôme only arches one eyebrow the slightest bit.

“Well, I’m not going to swap. I’m pretty happy with my draw.” and that’s that. No help for Mario. Okay. Time for a Christmas miracle probably.

But really, it can’t be that hard for a grown men to buy clothes, presents and get over a crush, right?

“You busy right now?” Mario asks because he feels like getting a pizza with someone now and not think about Bastian for a second.

It’s more of a pro forma question anyway because it’s kind of obvious what the answer should be but Jérôme replies, “Yeah.” and lazily moves to cross his ankles.

Mario gapes, looks at Jérôme, then at Robert still passing the ball across the grass and decides it’s best to leave because he’s not in the mood for the evening programme of _Lewandowski TV_.

\--

The 19th of December – and with it the date of their team Christmas party – draws closer and all Mario has done so far, is watch _Three Wishes for Cinderella_ approximately five times, maybe seven, the days are a blur in Advent season.

He’s also texted Marco again with passable results. Marco had offered an astounding number of ugly sweaters from his private wardrobe but none of them looked similar enough to the one Mario needs and Marco’s advice regarding the _Schweinsteiger Situation_ (‘u should just suck his dick. if ur not gonna do it, im probs gonna do it at some point’) wasn’t particularly useful either.

During training Mario stares at Bastian, more than usual anyway, because it still freaks him out that he didn’t notice earlier. That he would wax poetic about Basti’s skills and eyes and god-knows-what, that he slept on his freaking shoulder in Brazil, that they ran their hands across each other’s faces when they couldn’t believe that they had won the Cup. That he called him _football god_ and didn’t think twice about it, still didn’t connect it to any romantic feelings.

“Do I have something on my face?” Basti asks, disgustingly attractively sweaty from their sprint exercises. Behind him, someone snickers like this is funny in any way.

It’s really not.

“I – no, you don’t – I was just-“ Mario stutters and tries to look busy adjusting his shirt. It’s embarrassing how jumpy this whole thing is making him.

Mario digs his fingernails into his palm where they’re bound to leave white crescent-shaped impressions and decides that maybe it’s time to be a little brave. Just a little.

“I was just thinking that you look good,” Mario says carefully, quietly and it seems weird to him now that he’s said the exact same words before, when he didn’t know yet what they _meant._

Basti halts when he hears it and his expression slips, before the moment is gone and he ruffles Mario’s hair in an older-brother-kind of way.

Mario would be disappointed but Basti’s hand moves down to Mario’s neck and lightly brushes it before he drops the hand again.

Basti shoots Mario a look that could mean anything, yes, including _that_ and that’s the moment when Mario decides he’s going to get the best present for Bastian ever, the kind that says ‘ _I love you, I’m really sorry for that, please don’t punch me in the face’._

\--

Mario paces the sidewalk in front of the restaurant for exactly seven minutes before he finally walks in but even then it’s just because David and Juan arrive and it would look weird for him to hesitate any longer.

Most of the team and the staff are inside already, getting the Christmas party underway and... and exchanging their presents.

Mario isn’t entirely sure what he wants to get out of this evening or what he expects Basti’s reaction to be and right now, the only thing that’s for certain is the small cube-shaped box that feels heavy in his left jacket pocket.

It’s a dumb present, he thinks now, the scarf would have been better but there’s hardly any possibility to go back and change it now as Philipp spots him, greets him and softly-aggressively pushes him towards the platters with snacks.

The smell of incense cones wafts through the air, some pianist that’s hidden below the huge Christmas tree in the middle of the room tries to subtly play _Silent Night_ and Mario immediately has to smile.

Manuel, who is wearing plastic antlers, calls a slurred, “Merry Chrissssmassss, Mariooo!” across three restaurant tables and Mario has to admit that he’s impressed by how quickly Manu managed to get drunk. Mario checks his watch and according to his time, the admission to the party started less than an hour ago and nobody else has reached drunken territory yet but oh well, it’s only Christmas once a year.

Mario lets his eyes roam the room and next to Rafinha sheepishly giving his present to Dante, he spots who he’s looking for.

Bastian is – he is – he looks – he – _damn_.

In panic, Mario uses one hand to clutch the box in his pocket and the other one to stuff a fistful of cookies from a nearby platter into his mouth to prevent himself from sobbing out loud.

Latter turns out to be a bad choice when suddenly Jérôme pops up behind Mario and greets him with a forceful pat on the back. Mario almost chokes on the crumbs and coughs violently as Jérôme keeps hitting his back in an attempt to help him, maybe in an attempt to piss him off, you never know for sure.

“Glad you showed up, dude!”

“Why wouldn’t I show up?” Mario croaks and coughs again.

“Hm, to put it this way, you didn’t seem particularly keen to delight your assigned person from the Secret Santa today.”

Jérôme shrugs and seems pretty pleased with himself. He’s wearing a plain white shirt but underneath the cuffs , Mario can see a yellow sweatband peak out, hilariously clashing in style. As Jérôme fiddles with it, Mario can spot an embroidered _J_ on it. What the hell? That’s so not Jérôme.

“I mean, I could help you,” Jérôme adds, “a mistletoe maybe…“

“Get lost,” Mario says but there’s no bite in it and he just shoves another cinnamon cookie into his mouth.

Jérôme doesn’t get lost though, instead he grabs Mario’s left wrist and pulls his hand out of the pocket. Triumphantly he takes the small box out of Mario’s grip.

“Aw, are you proposing today?” he asks, grinning slyly which. _Reasonable_ considering the small container looks like a box for a ring, with the elegant blue and the silver swirl on the lid.

Mario hates Jérôme for suggesting it.

“It’s not a ring, goddamnit!”

“Then get your ass over there and give him his present. Most guys have already exchanged theirs because weirdly enough it doesn’t seem to be as much of a big deal with the rest of the team. Just saying.”

What? It’s not like Mario is afraid of doing it. Jérôme should stop minding other people’s business.

„You know,“ Mario says petulantly and wags his finger in front of Jérôme’s face, “I’m going to give it to him right now!”

“Oh, you’re going to _give_ it to him?”

Aha. Innuendo alright. Funny. Not.

As Jérôme grins and tugs at his sweatband, Mario doesn’t dignify it with a response and just storms off in Basti’s direction.

Basti stares at him with wide eyes but Mario can be an adult about this so he totally manages not to get distracted, shoves the box at Basti’s chest and sputters, “Hey. Here’s your present. Secret Santa. Merry Christmas. Have fun.”

Mario turns around quickly to flee and he can already feel the heat rising in his face but looks back once again. Basti is turning the box in his hands like he can’t believe what just happened and Mario can’t keep himself from blurting out, “It’s, uh. Cuff links.”

It’s really awkward and it’s even more awkward how Mario leaves as quickly as he can without knocking the Christmas decorations over. It had been silly of him to think he could actually succeed in his efforts and... and what? Tell Basti about his infatuation-slash-crush? Kiss him? Get to draw his fingers along his jawline?

Instead he was mocked by Jérôme, embarrassed himself in front of Basti and is now standing in the room that leads to the bathrooms with his head against the wall.

He sighs, once, twice, thrice and then decides to man up.

 _Get over it_ , he tells himself and lets his head thump against the wall.

 _Show them who you are_ , he tries to work up courage, then he smiles because it sounds like he’s at some freaking football match. But at least that’s something he can work with.

\--

When Mario walks back to where their half-assed present handover happened, Basti isn’t there anymore.  
Which _might_ be completely unrelated to Mario being a dick but Mario’s best guess is that it’s not.

“You looking for Bastian?”

Mario almost expects it to be Jérôme but, no, it’s Philipp asking him. Mario shrugs and nods at the same time and it results in him jerking strangely. He’s sweating and only partly because of the stuffy air caused by the impressive number of candles that are supposed to give the party a cosy atmosphere.

“I saw him head into the hallway. I think he said he needed to call someone.” Philipp explains before returning his attention on watching the dance floor like a teacher at a prom.

Mario walks off in the direction that Philipp pointed out, through a pair of swinging doors. When they close behind him, the music from the hall is muffled and Mario can take a fresh breath of air.

But he’s a man on a mission so he looks around the hallway and spots a door that probably leads to a supply closet, a nice place for an undisturbed phone call, Mario figures.

He opens the door. And immediately regrets it.

The sight makes him want to slam the door shut as quickly as humanly possible but it’s like he’s frozen.

Inside, amidst brooms and cleaning rags, Jérôme and Robert are eating face, swapping spit, playing tonsil hockey, you name it. Because Mario really doesn’t want to name it.

Robert is holding one of Jérôme‘s arms against the shelf above their heads and even with all the rutting and jerking the both of them are doing, Mario can see that they’re both wearing sweatbands in the same colour and he doesn’t have to be a psychic to know that a) Robert’s band has a stitched _R_ on it and b) that they drew each other’s name in the Secret Santa and fucking _coordinated_ their presents. What the romantic hell?

Mario is almost about to get mad at Jérôme for keeping this secret but he remembers that he never really told him about Bastian either and then – Robert moans and groans something like ‘ _Need_ you’ and suddenly Mario has all the power in the world to slam the door and run down the corridor, as far away as possible from the sex show in the closet.

Which, surprisingly, is also where he catches sight of Basti who is pressing his phone to his ear and is nervously pushing a package in snowflake wrapping paper around with the tip of his foot.

“You don’t understand! It’s like a, I don’t know, an _engagement ring_!” Basti says into the phone in exasperation. The person on the other end of the line seems to respond and Basti listens, gnawing his lip.

Whatever the answer is, Basti isn’t too satisfied with it and rubs a hand across his neck.

“No, no,” he says agitatedly, “I think it’s _very_ much my right to freak out about cuff links!”

A shiver runs down Mario’s back and he carefully takes a step back and pressed against the wall to avoid Basti seeing him eavesdrop. So they’re talking about him, or his present rather. Mario allows himself a tiny sliver of hope as he watches Bastian tap an irregular rhythm on his thigh, right where Mario can see the outline of the small box in Basti’s pocket.

“Lukas Josef Fucking Podolski,” Bastian urges and yes, it does make sense that he’d call Lukas about this, “I _did_ have a plan! Give him the sweater, smile and... introduce him to, uh, the concept of, uh, me. In that way. Red roses and all that jazz. But of course the kid had to go and draw me for the Secret Santa and _give me fucking cuff links like we’re married_. Can’t anything work out for once?”

 _Red roses_ , Mario repeats to himself, unbelieving, and he wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans.

At first, Basti rolls his eyes when Lukas responds, then he looks at his feet where the wrapped package is lying and a slow, careful smile spreads across Basti’s face.

Basti lifts the phone from his ear and holds it front of his mouth with the thumb already hovering over the button to the end the call.

“Okay, alright, I’m going to do it but if he laughs about me, you’re going to have to deal with my tears, bro. Bye!”

Basti stuffs the phone into his pocket, picks the package up and takes a deep breath to collect himself. Then he’s unexpectedly quick to turn around and walk up the hallway – basically right into Mario’s arms who doesn’t know how to hide.

For a moment, they stare at each other, both surprised to find themselves in the situation.

Basti speaks up first, fiddling with the package in his hands. It’s cute.

“I was looking for you.”

“Ha, uh, what a coincidence? I was looking for _you_!”Mario shoots him a lopsided smile. “I’m sorry if I seemed weird when I gave you the present. I was. Distracted.”

Basti opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again which makes him look like a confused fish. He’s still playing with the present in this arms and Mario is suddenly very excited to find out what’s it in.

It’s like Basti heard his mental wish, since he says, “It’s alright, uhm, I have a present for you as well. Kind of.”

Hey, talk about change being a dick, when it actually seems to get some things right (not mentioning Robert and Jérôme).  
“You’re my Secret Santa?”

Basti actually blushes as he shakes his head.

“No, it’s just because of what you said when we were at the Christmas market, I thought it’d be... uhm, yeah,” he trails off awkwardly and shoves the package at Mario.

Mario doesn’t stop looking at Basti while he tears of the wrapping paper and opens the carton. He takes of the lid and is faced with the ugliest, most shapeless reindeer on the ugliest, most off-colour sweater that has probably ever been produced on this godforsaken planet, even a tiny bit worse that his grandma’s but close enough in appearance to not be murdered by his mother for neglecting family duties.

Mario immediately throws it on and fucking _loves_ it.

He loves it so much he could kiss Basti and –

And he does.

He _does_.

It’s Christmas, okay, the time for miracles and all that stuff and it’s Bastian’s fault anyway for being there all Bastian-y and hot and cute.

Their lips meet softly but it’s still an overstimulation and Mario almost forgets to breathe until Basti moves away, just the fraction of a centimetre, and whispers, “Oh my god,” quietly, with an awe on his face that could only be surpassed by the one on Mario’s.

“I’m-“ Mario starts but he doesn’t really know what to say so he just leaves the sentence hanging mid-air between them, and between their quickly beating hearts.

Basti gladly catches it. “I know,” he says, amazed like someone who personally experienced the birth of Baby Jesus, “Me too.”

It’s the best thing Mario’s ever heard in his entire life and he _has_ won a couple of trophies but this is the most unbelievable one yet. He feels high enough on cinnamon, peppermint candy and Bastian to grab Basti’s hand and press it to his chest into the scratchy red wool.

They’re content just smiling at each other like idiots until Basti breathes, “I don’t even wear cuff links, kid,” and closes the gap between them again for a sweet, perfect kiss in the hallway.

 _Well_ , Mario thinks before all thoughts leave his mind and he has to hold onto Basti’s broad shoulders to keep his balance, _there’s nothing that can’t be fixed._

Through the swing doors a muffled version of _All I Want for Christmas is You_ filters down to them, still loud enough to drown out the moans coming from the closet.

\--

In response to the news, Marco sends a sweet potato emoji that Mario didn’t even know existed. Basti makes him send back a photo of him and Mario (in the horrible sweater), along with fifteen heart-eye smileys.

Mario’s grandmother gets the same photo.

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm, yeah! Hi, Maddi! You can probably guess what parts of your prompts I tried to use so I just hope this fic brightens your Christmas days.
> 
> Again, the [fanmix](http://8tracks.com/ascience/but-you-can-do-the-job-while-you-re-in-town) and also my [twitter](https://twitter.com/anexactscience).
> 
> With that I bid goodbye and say: Merry Christmas, everyone!


End file.
